


England's Christmas Wish List

by Fire_Bear



Series: It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas [9]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Christmas, Christmas Dinner, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Morning, Christmas Presents, Comedy, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Sledding, Snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 15:01:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8895814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Bear/pseuds/Fire_Bear
Summary: England always helps Santa by granting a Christmas Wish. This year, he decides to grant one of America's. But will a slight distraction as he casts the spell mean that America's Christmas will be ruined instead of fixed?





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zeplerfer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeplerfer/gifts).



“England, England!” came a small voice as he exited the World Meeting room, cursing under his breath about having to be at work so close to Christmas. Turning, he spotted Luella winging her way towards him. His scowl immediately turned into a fond smile, holding up a finger for her to alight on.

“Hello there, little one,” he said, stepping aside so that Norway and Denmark could leave. “What brings you here?”

“It's almost time!” she cried, looking excited. “When are you going to find one?”

“Hush,” whispered England, glancing around. “It's supposed to be a secret.”

Indeed, not many people knew that England had been gifted with the powers to make a single Christmas wish true each year. The original Santa Claus had bumped into England on one of his very first rounds and, finding travelling the world in one night and making every single believing child's dream come true was tough, had asked England to help. England had been delighted, proud to be asked to help keep magic alive. So Santa had given him a wand and he'd been transformed into Britannia Angel.

With the restrictions of the magic, England had to find a suitable person each year to cast a spell on which would hopefully make all their wishes come true. Of course, choosing was difficult but, being a nation, he travelled a lot and was able to overhear people's wishes in all countries. Usually, he chose someone from wherever the last World Meeting of the year was being hosted. This year, he was the host and he was finding it even more difficult to choose than normal. He wanted every single one of his citizens to have their wishes come true.

Looking around, England hurried towards one of the smaller conference rooms just by the larger one they'd been using. “We'll talk about it in he-” he began only to realise that the room closest to them had been left open, its door ajar. Frowning, he slowed and sidled closer, wondering who could have used it. He could hear the murmur of voices and soon found out why the door was still open when he reached the door. Peering through, England saw America, Canada and Japan within. America was sitting with his head pillowed on his arms, looking glumly up at the other two nations. The two of them were standing, shifting awkwardly as America spoke.

“-been a horrible year,” America was saying. “I'm just kinda tired, y'know? And I still haven't sorted stuff for Christmas. Not even got England's joke present or anything. Sorry, bro, might just haveta be content with still being my neighbour as a present.”

“That's the worst present you've ever given me, America,” Canada said, rolling his eyes.

“Did you have some sort of plan you wanted to tell us...?” Japan asked, sounding a little lost.

“Nah, not really,” America said, sighing heavily. He looked so down that England wished he could help him. If only Britannia Angel's magic didn't work on wishes alone...

“If you want, I can buy something for England,” Canada offered.

“It'd better be a joke one – can't have him thinking I like him or anything!” America straightened up as he spoke and laughed loudly. England winced at the volume and the comment.

“I... don't think I'll have quite the same sense of humour as you.”

America nodded and his smile slipped. Sighing again, he leaned back in his chair, arms behind his head as he swung backwards and forwards. “I just wish that I could have a Christmas without thinking about politics: just a simple holiday with, like, sledding and hot chocolate and a cosy fire and maybe some sort of animal in a Christmas sweater or whatever. Y'know, like a normal person.”

The words sent a tingle through England, a sign that it was a Christmas wish and one ripe to be fulfilled. England almost made a noise of surprise but managed to bite his lip to stop himself. Quickly, he drew away and walked off, Luella fluttering behind him. He turned to her with an excited smile. “I've found someone,” he told her.

Luella tilted her head, looking a little concerned. “Are you sure?” she asked. “He's a nation and will have many Christmases – mortals have fewer chances for a happy Christmas.”

England grimaced but shrugged a shoulder, one which Luella landed on to save her strength. “I know. But he's had such an awful time of it lately, we all have, but it doesn't look like he'll get much of a chance to be himself in the future. And, maybe, if I do this, his happiness will be transferred to his people.

“Well, it's up to you, dear England. But be careful.”

* * *

Since the Britannia Angel magic sometimes took a while to take effect and it was only a couple of days until Christmas, England transformed as soon as he got home, grimacing once again at how short the damned tunic was. Keeping a tight hold of the wand (he had lost it once – never again), he tugged the pure white material down as much as possible, despite knowing it would make no difference. It was lucky that the magic kept the cold at bay. Ruffling his feathers, he sighed in defeat and, checking his halo was in place, he went to his window and clambered onto the sill. Ridiculously enough, he still had to use a fall to kick-start his wings.

Once in the air, narrowly missing a blow-up Santa attached to his neighbour's roof, he oriented himself and flew off towards the hotel closest to the conference centre. He knew America often woke up late and would miss most of the meeting if he wasn't close by. Spotting the correct building, he waved his wand and flew through the walls, searching for the correct room. When he eventually found it, he had already startled Romania and almost upended someone's room service. He waved his wand again and managed to get through the door.

Upon entering the room, England realised that it was far too quiet to be America's room. The lights were dimmed and he looked around. He found what he was looking for on the bed, lying with his legs hanging off the end, an arm flung over his eyes. America was breathing deeply, evidently asleep. Worried for his posture (or lack thereof), England waved his wand and made America slide along the bed till he was using his pillow. He was tempted to magic him into a suitable set of pyjamas but decided that America _might_ notice something was amiss if he did. So, taking a breath, he did what he had come for instead.

“ _Good magic of the Claus_  
_This person has cause_  
 _To have his wish granted forthwith._  
 _So I shall give him this gift:_  
 _Let America forget it all_  
 _And let him have time to stall;_  
 _To have fun with sleds and hot_  
 _Chocolate and fires and not_  
 _Have his Christmas ruined. This_  
 _I do say to grant this one wish.”_

Finishing the spell, Arthur waved his wand over America, watching the glittering magic fall from the five points of the star at the tip. It landed on America, covering him completely in golden glitter. The nation shifted and his arm moved meaning that he got glitter on his hair and stuck to his eyelashes. Blinking, England stared at the vision, distracted momentarily. Hastily, he returned his attention to the magic still falling from the wand and shaped his will once again, hoping the split second of distraction wouldn't have adverse effects on the granted wish.

Finally finished, England stepped back and watched the golden glow around America pulse six times before fading, taking the glitter with it. England slumped as soon as it disappeared, his strength sapped from the complicated spell. He was almost tempted to crawl onto the bed for a quick snooze but he knew from past experience that that usually ended badly. So, waving his wand, he stepped towards the wall. He risked a glance at America and saw that, unlike the pained face he had had moments before, America now looked rather happy. Grinning to himself, England stepped through the wall and fell several feet before stretching his wings out to take his weight.

* * *

As it was Christmas Eve the next day, they only had a short meeting in the morning so that the nations could get home quicker. America didn't show up but everyone decided he must have gone home early instead of bothering with the farce that was the last meeting of the week. Nobody begrudged him, though, probably due to the lack of work getting done. Whoever had the first meetings of the next year to host would have a lot more work to do, as usual. So England was rather surprised that, later that night, as he watched snow falling heavily, America turned up on his doorstep.

“Huh?” England said when he opened the door, eyes wide in surprise. “What are you doing here? I thought you'd gone home.”

America lit up when he saw England, grinning widely. At England's question, he pouted. “The flight got cancelled so I've gotta spend Christmas here.”

“Oh, well,” said England stepping to the side, wondering how the spell had gone wrong. Maybe it had been that moment of distraction. Damn America for having long eyelashes and looking good in gold.

After dragging his bags over the threshold, America grinned at England. “Thanks, Arthur! I didn't know what I was going to do.” America continued to ramble on but England had stopped breathing.

The last time America had called England 'Arthur' had been one of the worst moments of his life. He had been with some of his army officers in his colony when America – Alfred then – had walked through the door, an air of determination surrounding him. Alfred had said: “Arthur. I'm going to fight with my people. You can't stop me. Farewell, England.” Since then, he had never called him 'Arthur'. Even then, England had sensed the shift from being Alfred's brother-figure to becoming America's enemy. He had had to sit down until a wave of dizziness had passed.

Now, he stared at America in horror. Had he been awake when he cast the spell? Was he mocking him? “America?” he whispered.

With the flow of his words stopped, America blinked at England for a moment. Then he said, “What about it?”

“No, it's... _you_.”

“What is?”

“ _America_ ,” England said, his tone one of warning.

“Dude, I have no idea what you're talking about. Has that civil servant deal got you fried or something?” He paused, looking England up and down. “You _do_ look rather pale. You all right? You're not gonna get ill for Christmas, are ya? That's an awful present from the Big Man!”

“I'm fine,” England snarled, jerking away from him. Seeing America's injured look, he put a hand to his head, trying to shield his face from him. “Sorry. I... I don't-”

“Ah, c'mon Arthur. You gotta sit down.”

England let America lead him to his own living room to sit down. “Thank you,” he murmured.

“No probs. Man, if I'd known you were ill, I'd have gone seen if Mattie was still around. Or maybe Keeks. He's probably still studying somewhere.”

Listening to America ramble on, England abruptly realised what was going on. “Shit,” he said.

“What?” America- no, _Alfred_ asked.

“Ah... Nothing. Just...” England searched for something. “I was going to go to my brother's for Christmas.” He almost groaned at the idea but held it in somehow.

“Oh. Well, if you wanna go-”

“No!” England exclaimed, hurriedly. “No. I'll... I'll stay,” he told him firmly. “Besides, it's snowing so much out there, I doubt I'll be able to get anywhere tomorrow morning.” England glanced at the clock. “And it's getting late. We should get to bed or Santa won't come.”

Am- _Alfred_ snorted. “Yeah, okay. I _am_ rather tired from shopping and the whole airport thing. Usual room?”

“Oh, um, yes,” England agreed, realising that, though America's memories of being a nation had gone, he still remembered the other nations and their homes. It was a rather odd state of being, almost as if he was now human and considered the rest of them to be the same.

“Cool! I'll come back down to wish ya goodnight.” And, with that, he collected his bags and bounded up the stairs.

“Oh, Christ,” England murmured, putting his head in his hands.

“Now, now,” said a deep voice from the empty fireplace. “That is not the thing to be saying on this sacred night.”

Looking up, England saw one of the new Santas standing beside a sack filled to the brim with presents. Thankfully, just the year before, they had met, so England didn't have to explain he was a nation and that it was okay for him to see them. Sighing, Arthur rubbed at his brow, wondering how he could have been so stupid to use up the Christmas wish on America. “Happy Christmas,” he said to the Santa.

“You don't sound awfully merry,” the Santa said. “What's wrong?”

“I've just magically made America forget he was ever a nation.”

“Oh. _That_ ,” said the Santa, putting his hand into his pocket and removing a small scroll. “Aelfric gave me this to give to you.”

Recognising the name of the Head Elf in Santa's Magical Department, England almost snatched the scroll from the Santa. Shrugging, the Santa went about his business, setting out not a large pile of presents. Unrolling the long piece of paper, England's eyes darted across it, taking in the message.

 _Dear Mr. England_  
_That Christmas Wish was rather complicated. With the unintended effect, we have decided this will wear off on midnight of Christmas Day. Please be sure to be there when Mr. America remembers who he really is – I'm sure it will be quite the shock to the system._  
 _Wishing you a Lovely Christmas as always,_  
 _Aelfric_  
 _(SMaD)_

“What?!” he exclaimed, looking up at Santa. “A whole day? Can't they fix this now? This isn't what America wanted.”

“Eh,” said the Santa, shrugging. “ _Technically_ , it is, actually. Don't worry – one day isn't that long.” And, with a tap to his nose, the Santa shot up the chimney, leaving England to deal with... _Alfred_.

* * *

Christmas Day and England had risen early. During the night he had worried so much he had been unable to get much sleep and, tired, he headed straight for the kitchen to make a cup of tea. As he did so, he looked out the instant coffee he usually made for America when he woke up. However, in its place, he found a tub of hot chocolate powder. He stared at it for a moment, spotted the Nescafé behind it and shifted it to the side to pick that up. When he turned to the mug he always gave America, he found that he had, in his hand, some Cadbury's hot chocolate instead. He stared at it and sighed.

By the time Alfred descended, England had managed to drink a couple of cups of tea and had two mugs set up for hot chocolate. Alfred trudged into the kitchen, yawning, but, after rubbing at tired eyes, he brightened when he saw England. “Oh! You're already awake.”

“I didn't get much sleep last night.”

“What? Something wrong?”

“Ah,” said England, forcing his brain to think fast, “just worrying that I might not have enough food for a Christmas dinner for two.”

“Oh, don't worry about _that_ ,” said Alfred, waving a hand in dismissal. “I'm sure we'll work something out.”

England nodded and turned as the kettle whistled. Then he poured the water in both mugs, stirring the mixture as he did. A smell of chocolate filled the room and Alfred gasped. “Happy Christmas,” England said, handing him a mug with a small smile, feeling rather nervous.

“Art!” Alfred cried. “Wow, thanks! How'd ya know I wanted this?”

“A-A fairy told me,” England managed to gasp out, turning from Alfred and trying to calm himself. The last time America had called him 'Art' or 'Art-hur' had been when he was but a child. He'd been so cute then, so happy. England had been happy, too.

Behind him, Alfred laughed. “Sometimes you're too funny, Artie. Oh, hey, I suppose we don't have a lot of presents either. Maybe we shou-”

“Oh, no,” said England, gathering himself. America had wanted a perfectly normal Christmas so he would give him one, whether it upset England or not. “There _are_ presents under the tree.”

“What? But there wasn't any last night.”

Smiling, England shrugged. “Come on.” He led Alfred into the living room where the pile of presents were still under the tree, some of them larger than he remembered. And... Was that box moving? Turning to Alfred, he watched the man's eyes widen and his jaw drop. “I think they're probably mostly for you.”

“Wha-? But... How?”

“It's Christmas,” England replied by way of explanation. He was sure the Christmas Wish wouldn't allow for England to be the focus of the day at any point.

For a moment longer, Alfred stood, transfixed. Then he dove across the room, setting his mug on the coffee table with a click. Grabbing the box that England swore he'd seen move, he ripped the paper off impatiently. England made his way to the couch and watched as Alfred revealed a box with holes. Hardly pausing, Alfred removed the lid and gaped inside.

“Oh, my God,” he breathed.

“What?” England asked, becoming concerned the longer Alfred sat still. America had never sat still for long.

“It's...” Then, obviously unable to find the words, Alfred reached into the box and removed a Corgi puppy wearing a tiny, red Christmas jumper and a Santa hat. “He's so cute,” Alfred said as the Corgi barked and wagged his tail.

“What on...?” England muttered, staring at the puppy. “How on Earth are you going to get that home?”

“Don't be silly,” Alfred told him, glancing over his shoulder as he hugged the puppy close. “He's gotta stay here for me to have while I'm at uni.”

“I... see...”

“Let's see. I think I'll name him... Lancelot.”

“ _Lancelot_?!” England exclaimed, confused.

“Well, I can't name him Arthur. And he's not a Merlin. So Lancelot it is.” Alfred hugged him tight and then let him go to rush around, exploring the new space. “Thank you!”

“Um, me?” England asked but Alfred had already moved on to the next present.

For a while, all that happened was Alfred unwrapping CDs and DVDs and games and large cuddly toys and a stress ball. Each time he opened one, he thanked England which only confused him – what on Earth did the tags say? Then he came upon the last two, both of them huge and strangely shaped. Alfred pulled them towards him then, surprised, he turned and pushed one towards England.

“One for you,” he said, with raised eyebrows.

“Huh?” England replied, pulling it towards him. Looking at the tag, he saw that it was addressed to 'Arthur' from 'a Special Friend'. Confused, he unwrapped it to reveal a large, red sledge. Alfred gave a shout of joy and England looked up to find that he also had one, his in blue. “Oh,” said England. “Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes!” Alfred shouted. “Did you see all the snow out there?”

“I haven't looked out of the window today,” England said.

“Then you gotta! You should see how much snow is out there! And there's a park at the end of this road, right? On a hill and everything!”

“Yes... Definitely serendipitous...”

“Come on!” Alfred said. “Let's go. And we can take Lancelot for a walk as well!”

“I'd much rather-”

“Oh, c'mon. You're not chicken, are ya?”

Clicking his tongue, England took a big gulp of his hot chocolate before he set it down. “Fine. But wrap up warm.”

“Always such a worry-wart,” Alfred said with a laugh as he rushed from the room, Lancelot yapping and following him.

* * *

They weren't the only ones to have the idea to go sledging and they had to trudge to the other side of the hill so they wouldn't knock over any children. Other children had already made snowmen and were throwing snowballs. England was nearly hit with one and the young girl whose aim was off apologised so much that England made Alfred stop to help her with her battle against the boys who were bullying her. They left her with some trenches, plenty of ammo and an army of girls to fight alongside.

By the time they reached their designated sledging spot, it was already the middle of the afternoon. England panted a little and tucked a stray strand of hair back under his hat so he could see better. “Sorry,” he said. “We could be cooking Christmas dinner by now. It'll be late by the time we eat.”

“Don't be silly,” Alfred said, grinning at England. “I've got plenty of candy I can eat while I wait. Besides, it was sweet of you – didn't know you were so... amazing.”

England blinked at him, glad his cheeks were already red from the cold and the exertion. “You... Right. Well? Shall we get this over with?”

“'Get it over with'?” Alfred asked, pretending to be offended. “No way! We gotta have, like, at least five races! Winner gets to ask for a special Christmas present to be delivered by... When did Ivan say Russians celebrate Christmas?”

“Sometime in January,” England answered, dropping his sledge down and checking on Lancelot who was busy eating snow. “What does the loser do?”

“Beg the other not to tell any of our friends. Bet Francis will laugh at ya when you lose!”

“I will not!” England exclaimed and clambered onto the sledge.

“You will!” Alfred declared, dropping onto his sledge. His slid forward and he gave a shout. “And go!” he called over his shoulder as he pushed himself off.

“Hey!” England shouted. “That's cheating!” But he pushed himself off regardless and shot down the hill. Wind whipped at him and his eyes watered as he swooped downwards. His red scarf fluttered behind him. Ahead of him, Alfred's new, blue scarf did the same, in danger of coming loose.

Of course, Alfred won the first race. As soon as he got to the bottom, he rose and tried to run up the hill, slipping and sliding. He laughed joyously, looking so happy that England began to understand why America had wanted something like this. America hadn't laughed like this in almost a year now. His usual laugh paled in comparison to this one.

The second race was a far fairer one with a countdown. This time, Lancelot followed them down, yapping all the way. Alfred won that one but England won the next two. The thrill of victory was overshadowed by how light and free he felt as he descended. They were both laughing and grinning and growing more competitive as the day wore on.

“Right,” said Alfred. “The next one is the winner of the day and gets the latest Playstation.”

England snorted. “Sure. Though I'd prefer the other two book series Jim Butcher has written, thank you. What's been published, anyway.”

“Oh, you're not gonna get that this year.”

“Fine. Get me it as a birthday present,” England said without thinking.

Alfred looked surprised. But his smile turned fond and he nodded. “It's a deal.”

“Right,” said England, glancing down. “Well, let's get on with this.”

They both clambered onto their sledges, using the heel of their boots to keep from sliding down before the countdown. Ready, they looked at each other. “Three,” said Alfred.

“Two,” said England and, with a smirk, he pushed himself off, laughing at the outraged cry from behind him. Unfortunately, he didn't get far before his sledge got stuck. Cursing, he had to push himself forward a few feet, scowling as Alfred carried on past him. Finally free from whatever blockage he had been caught on, he slid down behind him, no hope of catching up to Alfred.

As he flew downwards, Alfred's scarf fluttered behind him, the length of it much longer than before. Suddenly, it came loose completely and floated into the air. Surprised, Arthur leaned over to catch it as Alfred tried to catch it himself, stopping his sledge completely. Arthur's sledge turned instead, allowing him to catch the scarf by the tips of his fingers but also sliding into the path Alfred had formed. As he drew the scarf close, he looked up and realised he was about to collide with Alfred. With a shout of alarm, he closed his eyes tight as he went flying, tumbling, slamming into Alfred. Both of them fell off their sledges and they rolled partway down the hill before Alfred had the presence of mind to stop them with a hand.

Breathing heavily, England blinked up at Alfred whose weight pressed down on the older nation. With the cold at his back, the warmth of Alfred's body felt safe and comforting. The younger man looked down at him with wide, blue eyes which matched the clear sky above. England could see the concern in them, the panic, the worry that Alfred had caused this somehow. It made England's heart ache and he had to fight back tears. Instead, he held up Alfred's scarf.

“I told you to wrap up,” he murmured.

“You... did,” said Alfred, relaxing. But he continued to stare down at England, something else in his eyes. A movement by Alfred was aborted by Lancelot suddenly appear, running around them and yapping in alarm. Instead of doing whatever he had intended, Alfred got to his feet and helped England up. Grinning, he said, “I think we should call this a draw.”

“So, no presents?” England asked, tugging at his gloves instead of looking at him.

“Yeah, suppose not. But dinner!”

* * *

Alfred insisted on helping with the cooking once they'd gotten out of their outdoor wear and put a sleeping Lancelot in Alfred's room. By that point, the awkwardness which had fallen upon them on the walk home had dissipated and they managed to dance around each other easily. Alfred seemed to love the preparations they made and England was happy to have the help. They made a lovely spread and had just set it all out on the dining table when the lights went out.

“Uh oh,” said Alfred. “Is that a power cut?”

“Let me check,” England said with a sigh, setting down the carving knife. He headed for the fuse box and established that everything was fine before trying to flick on the kettle. Nothing happened so England headed back to the dining room, nearly bumping into Alfred in the darkness. “It's definitely a power cut. You might want to find some more jumpers – it always gets cold in here without the electric heaters.”

“Huh.” Alfred didn't move for a minute, head tilted as he thought. “What about your fire? In the living room. It still works, right? I mean, you can still use it.”

“Oh. Yes, I can. But I don't have any coal. And I'm fairly sure there's no wood out back.”

“I'll go check. You got a flashlight? And you should totally light candles!”

Bustling around, England provided Alfred with a torch and found some candles and the old candelabras. He let Alfred go check on the wood situation while he lit several of them, putting one on the dining table and the rest in the living room. As he was lighting the last candle, he heard movement behind him and Alfred appeared carrying a large bundle of wood. Grinning, the man set the pile down beside the fireplace.

“See? Nothing to worry about! We can build the fire, bring the food here and have a sort of picnic in front of it. Always wanted to do that!”

England stared at him, well aware of the romantic connotations. However, it _had_ been part of America's wish and, with this, he'd have made it come true completely. So he nodded. “I'll build the fire; you get the food through.”

They busied themselves with setting up the room until finally, they were ready and both of them sat before the fire. As they ate and chatted, England slowly realised that it was easily the most fun he'd had on Christmas Day. Usually, he was either alone or having to contend with his brothers. (And, occasionally, a drunken France.) Though Alfred referred to everyone by their human names and had made up a narrative to suit his human life, his stories had a ring of truth to them and England found himself chuckling or outright laughing at Alfred's stories.

Beside them, the fire crackled and flickered, its warmth washing over them. After their large meal, England began to feel content and sleepy. He watched Alfred stacking plates, marvelling at the fact that he was actually tidying up. Then, suddenly, a realisation hit him and he looked up at the clock. There were still a few hours till midnight, a few hours until America returned to him.

Only a few more hours for America to be happy.

Watching him, England wondered if America was happier being Alfred. Would he remember this Christmas? Would he hate England for making him forget who he was? Would he wish he'd never known England?

Would it be better for England to figure out a spell to keep him as Alfred?

“Artie?” said Alfred, suddenly. “You okay?”

“Ah, yes. I'm fine. Just... Just wondering what else we can do to make the most of the few hours we have left of Christmas.”

“You've got Monopoly, right?” Alfred asked, grinning widely.

“Ah, yes. The traditional one, of course. Let me just...” And England clambered to his feet and fled to the cupboard under the stairs.

* * *

“That's fraud!” Alfred shouted with a laugh. “You can't just claim you lost some money to get more!”

“Well, I did and I've got all this now,” England told him, smugly.

“Fine, then.” Alfred folded his arms. “I won't sell you it.”

“Oh, don't be daft!” England leaned forward to grab at the card Alfred was holding. They had been going for hours, double-crossing each other at every turn once they'd bought up all the squares. By all rights, they should have both been in jail by now but there was no police officers around to arrest them.

“Nope!” Alfred declared, pulling the card out of reach.

England growled and leaned across the board. “Give it to me!” he said, putting his hand in the middle of the board. Of course, since he wasn't paying attention, he put his hand on top of the cards and they slipped underneath his weight: with a gasp, he fell forward. Thankfully, Alfred caught him, keeping him upright. He smiled fondly at England as the nation stared at him in surprise.

“You've been falling a lot today – you okay?”

“Yes...” England breathed. They were so close...

For a while, the only noises were the crackling fire, the ticking clock, and their breaths. Then, Alfred startled England by sighing happily. “Arthur,” Alfred murmured and then, without warning, he leaned closer and kissed England.

Freezing, England could only stare at Alfred's closed eyes, the feeling of Alfred's – _America's_ – lips on his so unnatural and so completely right. After a moment of shock, England's eyes fluttered closed and he pressed into Al- _America_. Their lips parted for a second before America cupped England's face and drew him in closer, their tongues meeting as they kissed again. Everything was perfect, the pain within England washing away completely. If he had known this was what it would take to be able to be happy with America again, he would have done so years ago, when America came to 'save' him in WWII.

Suddenly, America pushed England away, so violently that he banged his head off an armchair. Blinking, England struggled to sit up, alarmed to find himself looking at America instead of Alfred, his face confused and frightened. Looking up at the clock, England found that it was, indeed, Boxing Day. Turning his gaze back to America, he stared back at him, his heart clenching as he realised that America would never have kissed him, would never kiss him again.

“England...?” America said, slowly, and England's heart broke again.

“I-I think we should go to bed now,” England croaked, willing himself not to cry. “It's late.” And he scrambled to his feet, hurrying away from the younger nation and the perfect Christmas he'd just been forced to experience.

“Wait, England...”

Shaking his head, England said, “Go to sleep, America. You can go home in the morn-”

“ _Arthur_.”

That made him stop, as if he'd hit an invisible wall. He took in a sharp breath and slowly turned to find America just behind him. They looked at each other, unable to say anything about what had happened but saying just enough. America gave him a weak smile and reached out, pulling England into an embrace which spoke volumes and made him feel as safe and content as he had been with Alfred.

“Al,” he murmured, mostly to himself. America's grip on England tightened, holding him close and England thought that, maybe, it really _had_ been a perfect Christmas, for both of them.

**Author's Note:**

> America gave England his Christmas present on Boxing Day - the magic of the granted wish made him forget about it, despite having bought it while under the influence of the magic. It was complicated.
> 
> Oh, and, though he got a present, England’s favourite present was actually the fact that America starts calling him Arthur/Artie again and allows England to call him Alfred/Al/Alfie.


End file.
